Love in the Rice Fields

by Macario Pineda

  It was my turn to take a deep breath. “But wasn’t that the reason why Nana Hina asked all of you to come home?”

  Edo blinked several times, as if gathering his thoughts, and sighed wearily. His voice was quivering when he spoke. “You’re right. It was assumed that Nana Hina wanted the family to be together in those desperate times. And when death came, she said, she had wanted us to be buried together as a family.”

  Then the doleful image of the parents—the old man with the baskets slung over his shoulders and the old woman carrying a basket of fish on her head—hawking the fish they had bought in the adjoining town. Nana’s face was pale and haggard. Tata Berto’s knees appeared to wobble. And then the image of ten children noisily fighting over porridge rice at eating time.

  Did those children breathe life into the already weak and frail bodies of the old parents whose energy had already been spent taking care of their four children?

  Onor and Minang, who had been joined by Tonio, came down the stairs.

  “Are you leaving? It’s still early,” Edo said.

  “My mother asked me to pick something up from the house. We’ll be back soon,” Onor replied.

  A smile lingered on Minang’s face. I knew what that smile meant. Only once in her life could a young woman flash such a beguiling and joyful smile.

  Tonio’s eyes were almost feverish. The two women were on their way out even as Tonio sidled up to me and Edo, and spoke in a low voice.

  “Cousin,” turning to Edo and me, “we’ve reconciled. We’ll ask for her hands at the onset of the new moon …. I hope …”

  Tonio looked over his shoulders as he reached the gate. His face was beaming.

  The novena prayers were winding down. The games were about to begin. Someone was strumming the the chords of a lively introduction to a popular tune on his guitar. The young women were singing. The young men were declaiming.

  Edo turned to me. “Why is it, cousin,” he asked, “that there seems to be some truth in the saying that those who have gone ahead are full of regret, while those left behind struggle to get ahead?”

  I was about to give my rejoinder when suddenly a series of images streamed through my mind, a vision in a daydream, pictures of inummerable healthy bodies that had turned into emaciated creatures, sunken cheeks gradually dried up by suffering, what used to be strong, dependable arms vigorously nurturing their children that only death could still.

  “But did those that went ahead really regret what they did?”

  Edo paused to consider. “Did they really have regrets?” Edo asked.

  I raised my face and looked at the house. The altar remained well-lit. And the name REGINA, formed by the kamuning leaves, appeared to emit strange rays of light.

  A lovely face peered through the window near the balcony. “Edo … Edo,” the voice said shyly. “please, if you could come up.”

  Edo looked up and his brooding face gradually lit up.

  And I was left with Impong Sela’s words continuing to touch my heart: “Oh my Jesus, by thy crown of thorns ….”

  I lifted my eyes. The words REQUIESCANT IN PACE glowed.

  Each Withered Flower

  The sun had begun to lean westward and the air was gradually getting chilly. The vast field was an expectant mother eagerly awaiting the birth of her child. The rice grains were swollen, although here and there were seedlings thrust into the soil early in the season in anticipation of a possible lean harvest.

  Tata Teban sat by the window, quietly mending his old small fishing net with stitches. Nana Tasyang, who had wanted to take a nap after having lunch because she had not slept well the previous night, was sprawled on the bamboo floor, and like her husband, was busy reweaving their mat.

  Nana Tasyang lifted her eyes. “Oy, it’s been a while since your son has written to us.”

  The man said nothing. He blew smoke through his pipe to signify that he heard the woman.

  “Ay, I could hardly close my eyes last night. I felt dreadfully anxious for some reason …”

  “Take a bath. It’s the heat,” the man said.

  “I took a bath just the day before yesterday, you know-it-all,” the woman replied tartly. “Ay, don’t you see, your soldier of a son is always in my mind. Why has he not written to us?”

  The man stopped mending his net and gazed at the distance.

  Nana Tasyang reached out for the bamboo container of her betel nut chew. “When your son returns, oy, don’t allow him to leave again. His not being here is worrisome. Even if this war is over …”

  He flicked away the ashes of his cigarette over the window sill. The man’s face broke up into a smile. “Wasn’t it only this morning your niece Sabel made a crack? She suggested that we should make Nonong marry Tentay as soon as he returns. ‘Well, if that’s what you like,’ I said, ‘you be the one to ask Tentay’s mother for her daughter’s hand.’ That insolent brat was convulsed with laughter.”

  Nana Tasyang bent her forefinger slightly, the tip of which had a sliver of lime that she expertly rubbed on her tongue. With a contented smile on her face, she chewed her betel nut with such delight as if in the very gesture of savoring the concoction, she was being thrown into raptures of joy as she listened to her husband.

  Tata Teban threw his wife an affectionate glance. Once again, he found himself smiling broadly. Seeing his wife in such a pleasant mood, he knew how palatable the idea had been. “Well, if it’s alright with you, I will go ask for her hand tomorrow evening. I’ll bring your Kumpareng Teryo.”

  Nana Tasyang lowered her face and aimed her spit expertly at the small opening in the bamboo flooring. “Ay, but didn’t we talk about the two just recently? I heard that Tentay goes to the chapel and prays the rosary every afternoon. She is always with Adela, the niece of your Kumareng Tunang. Ay, when I found out, I had the urge to ask Tentay to come over.” The woman flashed a smile.

  “Who is she supposed to pray for?” asked Tata Teban who remained hungry until he sucked the bone marrow.

  “Naku, you’re really something, Who else but your gallant guerilla,” she yelled at him. “She’s such a gentle girl. Well, if we consider how good Ata had been to her now departed Kulas. She worshipped him. Good seeds yield good fruit.”

  Tata Teban laid down his fishing net, and concentrated on savoring each whiff from the cigarette. “I wonder how old Tentay would be, oy?”

  Nana Tasyang wiped the side of her mouth before she replied. “Why, you dense piece of log. Ay, didn’t Ata and I take our after-birth bath almost at the same time? It was you who told me how you wangled the root of whatever-you-call-medicinal plant for my bath from them.”

  Tata Teban put his chin on his hand. “That’s true.” And the farmer’s head bobbed up and down. “I wonder what lies ahead in the future when Nonong returns …?”

  Happily imagining her son tying the knot with Ata’s daughter, Nana Tasyang focused her eyes on the distance while chewing her betel nut with relish.

  Suddenly, the dog on the ground barked. The old man turned around to look at the gate, and was suddenly on his feet as he rushed towards the gate. “It’s Aryong, oy,” he said with delight.

  Nana Tasyang hastily stood up and followed her husband. “Naku,” she blurted out excitedly, “we’ve just been wondering why it has taken so long for Nonong to come back, little did we know that he’s on his way home. Come in, Aryong, come in …” And the woman pulled a small bench from the corner to offer to the visitor.

  Aryong, the courier, was trying to scrape off the mud from his combat shoes on the stone by the stairs. Tata Teban went down the stairs and led Aryong by the hand.

  “Come in, Aryong. Please come up. It’s easy to clean those boots,” Tata Aryong said.

  Aryong briefly paused in the doorway. He took out a handkerchief and wiped off the beads of sweat now settling on his forehead. His face was grim and serious and no shadow of a smile tarried on his lips.

  “Naku, our courier is perspiring.” Nana Tasyang excla
imed. “There is still some coffee. Why don’t the two of you talk while I get some coffee.” And the woman strode toward the kitchen.

  Tata Teban, with the cigarette box in his hand, approached Aryong. “O, why don’t you light a stick, Aryong,” he offered. “I’m so happy you’re here. We have fretted and wondered why it’s taken you this long to deliver our letters.”

  A faint smile crossed Aryong’s face. “We have been in Cagayan, Tata Teban. Delivering letters is a real problem. Japanese soldiers have continued to put up a fight until now.”

  “How have you been? How is life in Cagayan? Has my son sent a letter?”

  The courier once again wiped off his sweat. “E … Yes, Ka Teban. E ….” Aryong opened his bag and his hand dove under, searching for something.

  Tata Teban could hardly breathe. From the kitchen, they heard Nana Tasyang’s voice. “Ask him to read it so we don’t have to wait for your nephew, Gorio.”

  Aryong took out a small packet. An awkward smile lingered on his face. Aryong kept glancing desperately at the stairs, and appeared just about ready to jump down the steps.

  The small packet was finally opened and its contents revealed to the farmer—a gold necklace with a small cross and an aluminum tag that his son had shown him once when he came home for a quick visit.

  For what seemed an eternity, Tata Teban stared at the packet. And suddenly, the meaning of it all exploded in his mind. His whole body shook uncontrollably. The shock paralyzed him into stillness. He closed his tearless eyes and slowly buried his face in his trembling hands.

  Meanwhile, Nana Tasyang with the steaming mug of coffee was coming from the kitchen. “O, Aryong … drink this while it’s piping hot …” The smile on her face instantly faded when she saw Tata Teban in the grip of an inexplicable pain. She stood, as if transfixed. Her face seemed drained of blood. The coffee splattered on the floor and the mug splintered into pieces. And Nana Tasyang crumpled in a heap on the floor.

  Thrown into confusion by the scene unfolding, Aryong was immediately on his feet. And running up the stairs was a young man, Gorio, “Nanang … Nanang … they say Kuya Nonong …”

  And the nephew rushed towards Nanang Tasya slumped on the floor.

  It was deep into the night when Impong Maria and Nana Sanang left the house. Nana Tasyang’s two sisters had left ahead. Tata Teban was holding up his lantern until they reached the gate. Nana Tasyang was weeping disconsolately in the house.

  “Teban,” Impong Maria said, “make Tasyang take some food. Something might happen to her.”

  This was met by silence. Tata Teban shut the gate and slowly took to the stairs.

  “Ay, Lord Almighty,” Impong Maria sighed deeply, “Nonong was such a good child. Ay, my God, if this is your will …”

  As if in response, a dog from a nearby hut howled as if in lamentation, and the hooting of an owl in the balete tree seemed to release huge waves slamming against the impenetrable silence.

  In the house, Nana Tasyang’s heartrending but muffled cries punctuated the silence like a sharp knife slashing the thick darkness. “Oh, God Almighty, Mother of God and your Son, he was my only son …”

  Tata Teban walked towards Nana Tasyang. “Tasyang,” he gently called her, “come and let’s eat. Please come, Tasyang …”

  The woman suddenly put her arms around her husband and began to weep piteously. “Teban … Teban, this is so painful. My God, why must this be so …?” In that instant, a surge of envy overwhelmed Tata Teban as he saw the flood of tears streaming down his wife’s face.

  Sleep eluded Tata Teban the whole night. Like an endless circle, Nana Tasyang’s words, “he was my only son …” churned again and again in his mind. And deep in his heart, he felt an incomprehensible resentment.

  He had known death before. He was still a small child when he saw one of his siblings dying in his mother’s lap. He witnessed the death agony of his Tata Densio moments before he succumbed after a carabao butted him. He was still a teenager when his Ingkong Tano passed away and left him. And through all these experiences, he held on to his faith, exhorting him to accept God’s will, as a shield to steel himself in times of misery and sorrow.

  In the darkness of an early dawn, Tata Teban rose. He lit a candle at the altar and prayed.

  Tata Teban prayed for a long time. He dwelt on the import of each word, each passage. He sought to forcibly open his soul to the fragrance of a wholehearted resignation. He strove mightily not to look for the reason but to accept the death. But his heart remained stony cold, impervious to his longings, his spirit trapped in profound darkness. The words in those prayers clung his lips like dried leaves. And continuously haunting his mind were Nanang Tasyang’s words of pain and regret: “My one and only child, Lord …”

  He slowly rose to his feet and made his way downstairs. The bereaved mother, her face buried in the pillow, was still in the grip of immense sadness.

  The vast field was calm under the starry night, the multitude of stars twnkling in a kaleidoscope of light. Tata Teban raised his face and breathed in the fresh air.

  “God Almighty,” he exploded with pain and hurt, “where is your Mercy?”

  For a long time, he walked aimlessly and dispiritedly around the yard. He opened his ears to each faint sound of the night as if each sound could help him heal his afflicted soul. The gentle murmur of the water flowing through the fissures, the agitated and timorous twitter of the birds perched on the thick branches of the mango trees, the occasional wiggling of the fish in the paddies, the intermittent cries of the crickets, all these possessed no power to breathe life into his dead spirit. Tata Teban took a deep breath to assuage, if in small measure, the searing pain that, in his inability to cry, rendered him dry and barren.

  A profound disquiet overcame him. In a swift overview of his past life, he seized on certain key moments: the many years of labor, patience, and pain invested to build a life—the simple house built of logs he hauled down one by one from the mountain, the ricefield carved out from the forest and eventually cleared, the dikes erected through his sweat and blood, those mango trees he planted spurred on by dreams for a future when they first got married, the birth of Nonong that breathed meaning into every suffering and pain that came their way, the passage of years when the pleasure he and his wife enjoyed was measured against each step taken to insure the security and happiness of their only son. A nameless despair ovewhelmed Tata Teban’s heart. What could possibly be the reason for a lifetime of labor and sacrifice that abruptly came to naught?

  The farmer wearily leaned his body against a mango tree. If there was a heaven that looked down on their dreams, if there was indeed a heaven that heard their prayers, if there was a heaven that understood and appreciated all their sacrifice, how could it have hidden itself to allow the beauty of being meaningfully alive dedicated to an only son to be inexorably wasted?

  In an instant, the tortuous series of recriminations ended. Dear God, what was he saying? He lifted his eyes to the sky. “Nonong,” he whispered, “if all this makes sense to you, please tell me. My spirit has spiralled into the abyss of despair.”

  A gust of cold wind gently shook the leaves. The fragrance of the swollen rice grains and the heady scent of the mango trees filled the air. Unseen wings whizzed by, flying to and fro, in the impenetrable darkness. And Tata Teban felt the flowers from the mango tree noiselessly and slowly falling to the ground, in a cascade of movement.

  He bent down and touched the ground beneath his feet. His fingers made contact with some fallen petals. His fingers also brushed against dried mango leaves. He gazed at the mango tree. In the darkness, he could see the tiny seeds that had pushed the withered flowers from the tree.

  Tata Teban stood up and resumed his walk. He strode down towards the fence near the edge of the land. His legs then carried him to the levees. The palay leaves were incessantly murmuring. Once in a while, rustling sounds came from the levees.

  The sky in the east was gradually lighting up. The
morning star had begun her ascent. Tata Teban sat back on his haunches and in the spears of light emitted by the flckering stars from the most distant point of the universe, he opened his soul to the radiance of a transcendent truth.

  Nana Tasyang was coming down the stairs when Tata Teban rushed into the yard. The sun dazzled in its brilliance and the air was humming with music.

  “Tasyang,” he called out.

  She turned her head. Her eyes were swollen.

  Tata Teban hurriedly approached his wife. “Tasyang,” he said. “We must not hold God to account. He is wise and all-knowing, everything that happens in life has a meaning.”

  Nana Tasyang buried her face in the comforting shoulders of her husband.

  The man’s face had ben transfixed with a strange radiance. “The course of life has its own goal, its own path, its own end. Watch the seeds sprouting from the earth, edible tender shoots rising from the bamboo, bananas bearing fruit. Observe how the dews are formed, how rains pour down, and how the water fills a lake. The seasonal mating of birds, the flowering of a mango tree, the shrivelling of the grass in the field. Compare the broadening of our view to the growing expanse of the field. Life goes on purposefully—propagating, reaching out to the sky, the whole universe in an unceasing movement. And, Tasyang, life moves on inexorably, giving meaning to all human pain and suffering.”

  Nana Tasyang slowly raised her eyes, overflowing with tears, and gazed at the luminous face of her husband.

  “Tasyang, do you see? Not a single leaf falls, not a single root rots, not one stalk bends without a reason in this Life suffused with Divine Blessing. Each withered flower has its reason for being. Then, would Nonong be less significant as an instrument to proclaim the sacred cause and great design? Do you understand?”

  Nana Tasyang stood with unblinking eyes as she stared at him. She could not fathom everything that was coming out of her husband’s mouth, but she instinctively understood the meaning of the strange light that illumined his face. And she once more buried her face in his shoulders.